Boys Only
by Roofran411
Summary: A long slow summer with Kate piers and their boys.


TOTS:

BOYS ONLY

I have said this many times but I have to say it again.

I am sorry to say that, unfortunately, Kate and Petrucchio do not belong to me.

They were created by Will Shakespeare and dragged screaming and kicking into the 21st century by Sally Wainright.

I only borrow them.

My thanks, as ever, to Rufus Sewell and Shirley Henderson, for making them live.

.

I have given this an M rating for some swearing.

* * *

><p><span>BOYS ONLY<span>

.

Chequers is the official country home of the PM of the United Kingdom. On the great stained glass window on the stair case in this beautiful old house is inscribed the following:

.

_This house of peace and ancient memories was given to England as a thank-offering for her deliverance in the Great War of 1914–1918 as a place of rest and recreation for her Prime Ministers forever._

_._

I use it as a place of rest and recreation to entertain informally, Heads of State and political leaders.

I never use it as a place of rest for myself.

When I need that, I take my car, drive west along then M40, turn at junction 90 and head up into the Cotswolds to Hazlington.

That's where I was making for now. In my Audi: Mummy's Matt was sitting beside me and two other members of my security team were in the backseat. Three car lengths behind us, was the unmarked police car driven by Mummy's Tom.

My beloved had taken the boys down to Hazlington yesterday morning with the two remaining members of my security team.

Sometimes I felt we, my Special Branch team and us, were a bit like Ruth and Naomi from the Bible,

_'Wherever you go, I shall go... and your people shall be my people.'_

They were certainly like that about our little boys.

I had a meeting this morning and I had to speak privately too with Sir John and Tim, before I left, but I had made it clear to everyone at No.10, I was going for the weekend. I was leaving immediately after lunch and nothing short of a world war breaking out was going to stop me.

Taking the Oxford bypass, I headed to Charlbury, skirting it by the right.

It is early April and the trees are beginning to haze with green. I drove through the narrow winding lanes that led to the village. I drive fast and well. I know I drive well: Matt, Tom and Piers are quite happy to be driven by me; they are perfectly relaxed when I drive

I love my job. I love the buzz, the power it gives me, the knowledge that I was pushing myself to my utmost, stretching myself as far as I was able and that no-one could do it as well as I could.

But by the time I slipped into village at Hazlington, my heart had been singing with every mile that passed.

The house name board was still the weathered old one but it no longer leaned into the hedge.

The gates were the same old ones too, but they were shut. I flicked the control to open them. We hadn't wanted to change them but the Special Branch had insisted on security, so we compromised: the old gates but electronically controlled. The old gate house has been renovated and this is where Matt, Tom and the team live when they are down here with us. We had suggested that they stay up at the house with us; there's plenty of room but both Matt and Tom said no. Living with the family would cause them to relax and so would take the edge off their attention.

The potholes in the drive had long been mended and the rhododendrons, lining it, were fat with their lime green buds.

I swung around in front of the house. Getting out, I threw the car keys to Matt and as I ran up the worn shallow steps to the house, I saw three little faces, in the window above the front door.

It was never locked when we were here and I pushed it open to the sound of three pairs of feet thundering down the great staircase.

Heaven help us if we ever get woodworm in it, it would fall down around their ears.

"Mummy, Mummy, we sawed you. We sawed you coming. We were waiting for you. Daddy said sit on the window seat."

They crowded around me, hugging and squeezing, all talking at the same time.

"We sitted and waited and Daddy waited too."

I turned and saw him coming slowly down the stairs, only a small smile on his face but his eyes saying everything.  
>Michael was clambering up me to be held, my love picked up Rupert, then as we always did, we each took a hand of Peter and lifted to hold him between us .And we stood, as we always did when we been apart, the five of us holding each other .<p>

And I knew I was home.

He was wearing the old teal coloured pullover he was wearing the day I met him. It had been old and tatty then.

"I think it is about time that jumper was thrown out."

"I like it." And that was all that mattered.

"Mummy, Mummy, we had our hairs cutted."

"Daddy tooked us to the barberer's in the village."

"Barbers, Michael."Rupert chimed in.

"No. it's not. It's barberers, isn't it Daddy?

"No Michael, it's barber."

"And Daddy." Michael carried on regardless. "The man said he cutted Daddy's hair when he was a little boy too."

"Oh! Oh." I had noticed; I hate it when they have their hair cut. Piers always has it cut short. If I had my way they would have their hair in curls to their shoulders, and he was included in that too.

"It's nice, Mummy, idn't it?"

"Yes darling, beautiful. Issn't , issn't , say it, issn't. Good boy! Why are we standing here?" I asked as we let them slide down. "Am I going to get a cup of tea or not?"

Taking hold of my trouser leg they pulled me towards the kitchen, I felt like a liner being escorted into port by her tugs.

"Mrs Becky made some sangwiches and scones but Daddy eated them."

"You rotten little telltales, and _who_ ate them as well?"

"We did." They gurgled with laughter.

"It is just as well I only wanted a cup of tea, isn't it? Um. Do you know if she sent something down for Matt and Tom and the lads?"

They got their own meals when here, as they preferred, but I always liked to know there was something ready for them when they drove down with me. These men after all, were prepared to put their lives on the line for me, if necessary.

"Yep, soup and sandwiches. Did you speak to John and Tim?"

The boys climbed upon the chairs at the table and I sat on the table, swinging my legs while Piers made a pot of tea for us and poured milk for the boys.

He stood in front of me and one by one took the pins out of my hair and ran his fingers through it, tucking it behind my ears.

I nodded.

"And?"

"They were surprised. Even more surprised than last time. Tim asked if I thought I could cope! The cheeky sod! And John asked delicately if it was a mistake. I put them both right on both counts. "

He sniggered.

"I bet you did!"

"Can I have a biscuit, Mummy?"

"What did Daddy say?"

"No."

"Well no, you can't. And Michael, stop kicking your chair"

"They haven't been very observant; you throwing up every morning."

"Oh! Come on! I don't do it in front of my Cabinet."

"Maybe not but you do look like death till about 11 o'clock."

"What is a sod?"

"What? What did you say Peter?

"What's a sod? You said Uncle Tim was a sod."

"Shut your mouth Kate."

I shut it with a snap and thought desperately what to say while that other sod, my husband, was smirking in front of me.

I took the easy way.

"Drink your milk Peter, and perhaps you could have a biscuit."

"Bribery and corruption. Typical politician."

"Shut up and get the biscuits."

Rupert climbed from his chair onto the table and sat beside me. His father lifted him down.

"On the floor, or on your chair. Not on the table." Rupert looked at him and then at me.

I suppose it was unfair for him to be told off for doing what I was doing, so I slid off.

"If I am not getting any tea, I shall go to my office to check my emails."

"It's made and poured out. What do you want me to do? Drink it for you? "

Peter looked into his mug of milk.

"Cheeky sod." he said.

Taking my tea, trying not to laugh, I disappeared out of the door and left my husband to get on with it.

As soon as they had finished their milk, my little entourage followed me. I knew they would and had left the door open. They trooped in and sat on the floor and waited. They are very good about this. Piers is the noisiest, most boisterous, awkward, clumsy and fidgety person I know and I am not exactly quiet myself but the babies will sit quietly and wait. Though they are very talkative, they seem to know when they should be quiet and still.

They watched till I finished with the mail and looked up and smiled at them.

"We wented to see Charlie."

Charlie is their father's horse. He is stabled at the livery stables nearby, when we are in London. The boys adore him only a fraction less than their father does. He always takes them there, when we are down here, and puts them up on him and leads them around.

"Daddy said you will take us to see some teeny ones tomorrow."

"Can we go Mummy?"

"Maybe."

The boys will be four next month and Piers wants to give them Shetlands; he says he learnt to ride on one of these tiny ponies when he was about the same age.

I am not sure.

I am not too sure about horses at all; they are so much bigger than me.

We did get them the ponies and of course, my love was right: they did learn to ride quite easily and quickly.

.

If you turn right at the foot of the stairs and go past 'my old man's study ' and the music room, before you get to the drawing room, there is a green baize door on the left. This leads into a wide, well lit passage, to what was once called the servants quarters.

The first door on the left leads into the kitchen.

On the right there are three doors.

The first leads to what used to be the estate manager's office; disused for many years, it is now Piers' office. The third door along was the butler's pantry. There hasn't been a butler at Hazlington since Piers' grandpa was a boy, so I had commandeered it as my office. Televisions, DVD players, computers, printers, telephones including the all important red one, all the things that are necessary to my job even when I am off duty. The red boxes that follow me everywhere already sat on the desk, waiting my attention.

Between these rooms is the former housekeeper's room. Four chairs and an old battered table piled with books and with boxes of toys underneath and two huge squashy settees, equally battered, now furnish it. A TV and a DVD player sit in one corner. A warm, shabby cosy room, we call it the snug.

I was coming to the end of the day's red boxes when I heard little footsteps rushing along the passage. I paused, listening to decide who it was, although I knew the other two would not be far behind.

Identical triplets, they were so much alike in their ways and yet so very different.

I can tell from the activity outside who it would be.

The door had an old Suffolk latch which they couldn't reach.

Rupert, the eldest, like his brothers, full of gaiety and charm, also has a serious responsible side with an innate politeness even though he is only just four. He will tap the door and gently call "Mummy, you finish now?".

Michael, with his boundless energy, unable to wait for anything, will kick the door, shouting "Mummy, Mummy."

Peter, the youngest, the most thoughtful, will drag the old boot box along the passage till he could stand on it to reach the catch and open the door. "Mummy, we come in?"

I heard the scrape on the floor.  
>Peter.<p>

"Yes you can come in. I've nearly finished. "

They were there in the room with me. My little loves.

"Where's Daddy?"

"In his uffiss, he was getting cross."

"With you three?"

"No, the man from the minsry."

"Oh dear. There! I'll just lock my boxes and we'll have a sit down in the snug. Perhaps I'll read you a story. "

We squashed into the settee next door; they were lying on me, their chins digging into my chest.

"Sing to us Mummy."

"I'm not very good at singing."

"Daddy sings to us."

"Yes I know."

"Daddy knows lotsa songs."

Yes! The counting song, strictly banned, was one. The clover song was another that was banned.

And there was the occasion I was singing Glory Alleluia, to be told I was singing the wrong words; that it was" Sir Jasper do not touch me." Another one I had to put a stop to!

But the day song (met her on Monday), does teach them the days of the week.

"Oh He sings much better than me."

"You sing Mummy."  
>"What shall I sing?"<p>

"Sing the wooden song."

"I don't know that."

"Yes you do."  
>"I don't think so."<p>

Michael sang clear and true.

"I tell dem ow bootiful you wah

Dey wooden bleev me."

"Ohh yes. Do you know, Daddy sang that song to me when he asked me to marry him?"

Three pairs of green eyes regarded me with interest. "What did you say?"

"Well, Yes. Of course I said yes, or I wouldn't be here."  
>"Sing it Mummy. "<p>

And I sang the lovely old song to them and as I came to the last line

"That from this great big world you've chosen me."

A fine tenor joined in and there he was standing in the doorway.

My love.

Smiling at me.

He pulled up the pouffe and sat next to us.

I put my hand on his arm in its mallard -green velvet sleeve.

"You had a bad day love?"

"I've had a blood... shi... yes, a bad day!"

I could tell he had. He always wore this coat, his mini and boots when he felt he couldn't cope.

"The ffffu DEFRA, the VAT man and the so...Inland Revenue and the directives from the EU. Jeeeez"

It must be bad when he had to struggle to stop himself swearing in front of the boys.

"And they've got to be done and in by the 5th and it's the 2nd today."

When we were first married, I persuaded him to save the estate money by doing most of the paper work himself. He did not find it any easier five years on.

"I'll help you later."

The boys took no notice of their father's outfit; they were quite used to it, but Rupert flinging out his arm, accidentally flipped the mini up and the boys saw what he wore under it. Big round green eyes stared. "Mummy, Daddy isn't wearing his"

"Yes I know" I interrupted. They looked at him with intent surprise.

"Daddy, when I'm grown up, I shall wear a skirt too, and lippy."  
>"I shouldn't do that If I were you, Michael." he said.<br>"Why?

"Well people may laugh at you."

"I don't mind, I like your skirt and your boots."

"Daddy. You put ribbons in your hair, an', an' you be like Cap'n Jack Sparrow does an' dey don't laugh at him."

"Yes dey doos, Rupe't."

"Dey spose to. "

"When did you see Cap'n Jack Sparrow?"

"Daddy tooked us to de cinenna."

"I think Daddy looks like Count Adhemar. You know, in the DVD, about the knights."

They were horrified.

"No. No. He's the baddy."

"He hits people."  
>"He is a nasty man. Daddy's not nasty."<p>

They clambered over me to reach and hug him.

"Thank you guys, but don't jump on Mummy's tummy."

"We tooked our shoes off."

"You are just like your mother. Got to have the last word."

"Talk about pot and kettle."

"Talking about kettles, fancy a cup of tea, my love.

.

The summer recess was nearly over. We had been at Hazlington all summer. I had been having a lounge in the swing seat on the terrace. Piers had taken the boys for a walk in Hazlington woods and they were coming back up the steps of the Ha-ha.

The boys climbed on to me.

"Your tummy's very fat, Mummy." Peter said. Piers looked at me.

"Maybe now is the time." my beloved said.

"I think maybe it is a bit too soon, after all there are still nine weeks to go and that is a long time to four year olds."

"There may not be a better time."

"Yes, ok." I heaved myself up into a sitting position. I feel enormous, although I am not nearly as big as when I was pregnant with the boys.

"Mummy has something to tell you."

"Pardon me?" I interrupted hotly. "_Daddy and I_ have something to tell you."

Sometimes I do not believe him.

"In a few weeks' time, we are going to have a new baby."

They weren't particularly interested.

"Where do you buy babies?" Peter asked. I looked at Piers, nodding.

"You don't buy babies, sunshine, um...er..." I really don't believe him!

"Mummies and Daddies make babies. They grow in Mummies' tummies. And that is why I've got a fat tummy."

They sat up, staring at it. That had caught their attention!

"Dere's a baby growing in your tummy?" Their eyes were huge.

"When will it come out?"

"When it is ready."

" But how will it get out?"

Their father was looking the other way, whistling tunelessly. I cannot believe that a man as articulate, outspoken and uninhibited as he is, cannot talk to his four year old sons about babies.

"Frew your mouth?"

"Well, no, there is a special place,"

"Where ladies go wee?"

"No-oo, a special place " They looked at me, fascinated.

"Will you show us?" this from Michael.

"Certainly not!"

"Why?"

"Well, because, because it is private!"

"Oh!" They accepted it, but still stared at my bump. " Mummy, how did it get in?"

"Daddy put it there." Their attention switched to him.

"How did you do it, Daddy?"

"Well...well... Well, I will tell you when you are older. Now you can go and ask Becky if there is any ice-cream."

"Yeees" and they got up and ran into the house.

"Chicken " I said.

"Not at all," he replied."They are too young."

"Hah! Wasn't it you who said If they are old enough to ask, then they are old enough to know? And _when _will they be old enough? What will you do then?"

"I will refer them to their mother," he said airily. "She is better at it than me."

"Chicken!" I repeated."Did your father tell you?"

"No, of course not! I brought the letter home from school which said we were to have sex education lessons and he said Right! Good! And that was that. "

"How did you find out?"

"From the other boys behind the bike shed, like everyone else."

When we were putting them to bed that night, Rupert asked "What is the baby's name, Daddy?"

"Well, you know you boys have family names? You are named after my Dad, and Michael is named after Mummy's Daddy and Peter is named after me..."

"Your name is not Peter, it's 'trucchio.

"Yes, my name is Petrucchio. Petrucchio is a sort of way of saying Peter. "

"Why, um, why do Mummy call you Piers?"

" When I went school, the boys made fun and so my Dad said he wouldn't call me that anymore. So he took the beginning letter of my names, Petrucchio Isambard Edward Crick and it made PIEC and it became Piers out of it.

And so Mummy and I decided that the new baby would have family names too. Alexander, after Mummy's Grandpa Courtauld, Anthony, after Mummy's Grandpa Minola, and Isambard because all Charlburys are called Isambard."

"Do we have to give him our ponies?"

"He will be too little to ride yet, Michael, and when he is old enough to learn to ride, you will be bigger and you will have bigger ponies."

"It might be a girl" I chimed in. That shocked them.

"No! " my beloved replied."We don't have girls in our family. There hasn't been a girl for a hundred and thirty years."

I stroked my bump and smiled.

.

Back to London.

My EDD was 10th November.

The time both dragged and flew by.

The State Opening of Parliament, I wriggled and fidgeted through it and thought my bladder was going to burst.

October was nearly over. I was still working.

We usually went down to Hazlington for Piers' birthday. I wanted to go. Piers said we could go later after the baby came. I was cranky and grumpy; I had had backache for a week.

John and Tim thought I should stay in London. I snapped "Right! I will start my Maternity leave right now. And then no-one can say anything."

Mummy asked "Are you being wise, darling?"

"I've nearly a fortnight to go. I can get back if necessary. It's not the bloody back of beyond. I want to go."

So we went. I was still miserable and uncomfortable. Another bloody fortnight of this.

The day before Pier's birthday, we all went for a walk, slower than usual but I was determined to have some fresh air.

I decided to have an early night. I twisted and turned. Piers came to bed and propped me up with pillows and against him until I dropped off.

I knew what it was when it woke me. They say you will know. It is like nothing else. They are right. I held my breath, and then slowly released it. I waited. Yes it was coming again! Oh God.

I must remember to time them.

They are slow at first, they say. I didn't have any of this before, with the triplets being Caesarean. I looked at the clock 11.15pm and watched the hands move. One, two, three. Here it comes again. I waited. Three minutes! Then another three minutes.

I took Piers' hand and squeezed it gently to wake him. He woke instantly.

"The baby's coming, love."

"Shall I ring the hospital, to tell them we are coming?"

"I don't think I'll make it back to London," as another wave swept over me. "I think you had better ring for an ambulance."

It took a minute for him to take it in.

"Jesus, Kate." He picked up the phone." Matt, you'd better get down here. The baby's on its way ...yes. Can you ring for an ambulance it might be better if you ...Yes...yep"

He dressed fast and came around the bed to me.

"How often are they coming?"

"Three minutes."

"I'm going down to unbolt the door for Matt. I won't be two minutes."

The next wave started as he went down stairs and the one after as he came back.

I was gasping as he came in.

"Another one? That's not too bad. "

I bit my lip not to swear at him.

"No" I said through my teeth. "They are coming faster."

"Where is your case?"

"I didn't bring it."

"Oh never mind; the hospital will have everything."

I struggled through yet another pain and said through gritted teeth, "I don't think I'm going to get to the hospital."

"No, no, my love, not London. Oxford or Charlbury."

A warm wet gush: my waters broke.

"Christ!" Piers gasped and ran to the bathroom for towels.  
>"Noooo. Not even Hazlington, if there was a bloody hospital there."<p>

Matt burst in. "Ambulance on its way!" and Piers shook his head.

"How often are the contractions coming? Katherine? Have you been timing them? "

I saw these two bloody useless males through a mist of pain as another wave hit me.

I sat on the floor and leaned against the bed.

As it let me go, I hissed at him "Contractions? Contractions? Contraction is a word invented by men to make them feel better. It's bloody sodding pain."

They looked at each other.

"We'll take you in the car, my love."

"I am not going anywhere. What bit didn't you understand? This baby is coming** now**!"

I could hear them whispering, " We'll have to get a doctor... to deliver it..."

"You're a policeman! You've had training ..."

"Christ Piers, that was twelve years ago... I've forgotten"

"You must remember ...I don't know..."

" Kate, Kate, what do we do?"

"Why are you asking me? How the hell do I know? Don't I have e-bloody-nough to do?"

Tom must have arrived; they were asking him.

"Hot water, boil a kettle and towels." was his contribution.

"Go on then."

"What for? "

"How the hell do I know? Make some tea. You like some tea, Katherine?"

"I would like kill you and every sodding other man on this planet, starting with that fucking idiot who did this to me."

"Towels, I seem to remember, and scissors and string."

"I'll get them."

"No! I shrieked "no love, don't leave me."

"No, love."

"I need to push." He helped me up onto the bed to lie down, and held my hand. "Ok, ok."

He had found a cold wet face flannel from somewhere and was wiping my face.

"I don't want to do this again."

"No, my love." he soothed. If he says that it was my idea, I really will kill him.

I slid into wave after wave of pain; I don't know how long. It seemed like hours, till I thought I heard someone say.

"I can see the top of his head."

"Slow down, Katherine, pant" But it was no use telling me that. One more big push.

"His head is through."

"Pant! Pant, Katherine!" It seemed to ease. Matt said "You must cut the cord Piers, when it's time. I'll tie it and you cut between the strings."

The wave began again and I felt the little body slither through. One more, lesser pain and it was all over.

"What is the time? asked Matt. "We have to write it down for registration."

"01.35am."

"And the date?"

"28th, no 29th October."

"What is it, Matt?" asked Tom.

"I don't know! I didn't have the chance to see. We were too busy."

"It's a boy." Piers said confidently. "We only have boys in my family." as he unwrapped the little bundle of towelling.

_"She_ is a girl." I said, and watched my love as he raised incredulous tear filled eyes to mine and lifted his daughter to his face.

"How did you know?"

"I have been talking to her for months. And Happy Birthday, my love. To both of you."

He gave her to me and we looked at her together. She was so tiny, such tiny hands and feet. A tiny, little face, she looked just like my Nonna Minola ... and me. Except that, when they lost the navy blue of the newly born, the eyes from which she surveyed her world were her father's green ones.

.

She was named the Lady Alexandra Arabella Isabella Crick.

But from the first, her father called her Lexi.


End file.
